Everything is Wrong
by Kate Virgine
Summary: First story in a series of unrelated OneShots. "...Tony was just the opposite. How the Hell can everyone be like this? he asked himself. Everyone is acting like everything is normal. They're wrong. Everything's wrong." Subtle spoilers for 3.23. Enjoy!


Long time, no post. Sorry, individuals; term-papers, Spring Break, and life (in general) just got in the way. Anyways, I'm not one to make excuses, so hopefully you'll all forgive me :)

Prompted by my two besties and subscribers **alindy** and **jtrem**, Imma do a series of unrelated One-Shots over the next few weeks to try and get back into the groove. WARNING: most will be short snippets of scenes (pretty much lacking plot for the most part) that won't really go anywhere. That's why they're One-Shots. ***Feedback is still greatly appreciated.*** After graduation, I'll be posting/updating more frequently and, hopefully, I'll divulge into some longer/better stuff. Exciting, no? ;)

I decided to do the Half-an-Hour Challenge, requested by one of my long-distance buddies. Although it's pretty self-explanatory, the goal is a 500 word story in half an hour (disincluding this intro), which shouldn't be too difficult other than getting an entire plot in that few words. But, as always, I'm ready for a challenge. Without further a due, I present to you One-Shot #1:

_**Everything Is Wrong**_

Tony eyes concentrated, or rather, blankly stared at the computer monitor in front of him. He knew he was supposed to be filing a report on the last case, along with catching up on all the other work he hadn't done, but right now he couldn't give a damn. Reports were the last thing he wanted to do, and meeting deadlines wasn't a top priority, either.

Half-dazed, Tony looked around the bullpen. Everything seemed nearly normal; Probie was sending uncomfortable glances his way, TV monitors were flashing, printers were whirling. Ziva looked like usual, deeply concentrated on her work but aware of everything and one. The eye of the storm, Ziva was. Chaos could exist all around her, yet she was always calm. Collected.

As undisturbed as she seemed, Tony was just the opposite. _How the Hell can everyone be like this?_ he asked himself. _Everyone is acting like everything is normal. They're wrong. Everything's wrong._

He looked across the floor at Ziva again. She was chewing the end of a pen intently, twisting her long, soft hair into intricate knots as she read emails. He could see the controlled rise and fall of her shoulders as she inhaled. For a moment, Tony considered throwing some heavy object at her, just to break her Little-Miss-Perfect assonance, but stopped himself. She was an ex-Mossad agent, he rationalized, and doing any harm to her would result in a broken shoulder at best. Anyways, he knew she wasn't what was bothering him.

Reluctantly, he turned his eyes back to his monitor and let them sloppily drift over the words on screen. _Nothing, nothing, they all mean nothing,_ Tony thought, wallowing in quiet misery. He didn't understand why this was happening to him. He was Anthony DiNozzo, ex-cop, carefree frat boy, and strong willed smart-ass. He was the man with all the plans, all the confidence, and too much pride. He had all the answers, even though most just earned a head-slap from Gibbs.

_Gibbs._

A sharp pain jolted through Tony's heart. He returned his focus to his computer, attempting to divert his thoughts. He forced a smile at no one in particular, trying to pretend that he was happy, but deep inside of him, he only felt pangs of sorrow.

_Gibbs. _

Tony wasn't much when it came to being a sentimentalist, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't have a deep connection with his boss. As a child, Tony's dad, a gambler with Mafia connections, had only succeeded in taking all of Tony's dreams and smashing them to pieces. From his first, crazy days in NCIS to the missions to boring late-night paperwork sessions, Gibbs had somehow crept into and taken over the position of Father-Figure in his life. Sure, maybe Gibbs wasn't the most personable individual he had met, but he was proud of Tony. Everyone here, in fact. NCIS was the closest thing Tony had to a family, and he felt like it was all falling apart.

_Everything's wrong. _

The all-knowing Ziva had been watching Tony the entire morning. He certainly wasn't being himself; no bits of subtle sarcasm, no sexual innuendo, no light teasing of McGee. He was closed and quiet.

"Tony?" she asked cautiously, not wanting to startle him.

Tony's eyes floated over to meet hers. He remained silent, only moving as much to allow her to fully view his face. He screwed his handsome features into some expression that Ziva guessed implied, "What?" His eyes were sad.

Ziva's face softened in comprehension. "Tony?" she repeated, this time more confidently.

Tony said nothing.

McGee, who had grown increasingly more uneasy with Tony's silence, piped up. "Uh, Tony… Ziva's, uh"-

Tony cut him off. "I can hear, McMoron!" In a fraction of a second, his demeanor had changed from sorrowful to angry.

McGee nearly jumped in his seat. He was used to DiNozzo's teasing games, but never did he sound so hurtful. Probie wanted to hide under his desk.

Tony sneered. "What, you can't hear, McLoud-Mouth? Huh? Oh," he spat, "hiding behind your computer doesn't help."

McGee blushed red, stuttering. "I… I.. I mean.."

Ziva rushed to his defense. Slowly, she rose from her wheeled chair and approached Tony. His glare shifted from Probie to her.

"What do you want?" He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.

Ziva considered for a moment, choosing not to reply. She slowly inched closer, refusing to let him back away from her. He looked a bit unnerved.

"Ziva, what the Hell do you want?" Tony tried to maintain his tough exterior, but found it failing. His partner, still inching closer, had some look in her exotic eyes that he found familiar. He could die in those eyes. Instead, he refocused his stubbornness, holding fast. Tony held back a scream. "Dammit, Ziva! Answer me!"

A gentle hand on his shoulder surprised him. Looking up, Tony saw Ziva look into his eyes. She knew. Probie, who stood awkwardly next to her, held the same expression.

_Gibbs._

Tony snapped his mouth shut, trying to hold back the tears burning in his eyes. _DiNozzo's don't cry,_ he thought. _I don't cry. Nothing is wrong. Nothing. Just everything. _

"Tony," Ziva said softly, moving closer, "Tony… we all miss him."

Her words stabbed through his heart.

_He'll wake up,_ Tony shouted in his head, _He can't die!_

Tony haphazardly moved his head, shaking them off as he distantly cleared his eyes. He turned on his chair to face his computer once more. Ziva and McGee took a step back, confused. Tony inhaled deeply. "I know," Tony whispered sadly, refusing to make eye-contact with either of his co-workers. He began typing, ignoring his friends' very existence. Realizing this, Probie awkwardly walked back to his cubical, glancing at his superior every couple minutes. Ziva, on the other hand, waited, watching Tony for a moment. She glided back to her desk as quietly as she had left it, unsatisfied but unprepared to see a Tony meltdown.

Ziva sat back in her chair, refocusing her attention on her paperwork for hours. But she's Ziva; the all-seeing, the all-knowing. And although she never looked at Tony for the rest of the day, she swore she saw a single tear run down his cheek.


End file.
